


Literary Candy Floss

by ItCanBePalped



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Divergence - Post-Hogwarts, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:48:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24316822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItCanBePalped/pseuds/ItCanBePalped
Summary: Hermione's guilty pleasure comes to light during an unexpected encounter with an old school mate. Fluffy, posted without review.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 57





	Literary Candy Floss

Though it, realistically, was a perfectly normal volume, the unlatching of the door sounded like a pistol going off. The speed with which Hermione’s head shot up was audible, and she reckoned she might have realigned her spine with the force. She could already feel heat blooming in her face with the realization that her novel, the wizarding equivalent of a Mills & Boon, would have a cover befitting its magical origin. It was almost as if she could feel the undulating pectorals of highland Lothario smoldering out at the world on the cover, beating out a guilty cadence against her fingertips. Pansy Parkinson blinked owlishly at her from the doorway.

She had known for quite some time that Parkinson was her colleague, at least in the sense that they were both employed by the Ministry, but this was their first run-in without the buffer of at least a dozen other employees strategically filling the space between them. The silence was oppressive. Parkinson delicately cleared her throat and cast her gaze aside.

“Great minds think alike, I suppose,” she began, shifting the contents in her arm that Hermione now recognized as a sleek lunchbox and a book of her own, “I apologize for disturbing.” As the former Slytherin began her retreat, Hermione found that her brain was finally ready to fire at all cylinders once more. For all that she had been willing to sell out Harry before the final battle, Parkinson had been all bark and no bite. She had verbalized her belief in Voldemort’s cause, but had neither taken the mark nor participated in the battle on either side- and still, nearly ten years later, found herself fighting harder to reinstate herself in society other, more culpable individuals did.

Hermione inelegantly spoke around the fried plantain in her mouth, “Please Parkinson, no need. There is plenty of room for both of us.” She gestured vaguely to the space beside her on the settee before sweeping her clumsy hand to the loveseat across from her, waving a metaphorical olive branch more than extending it.

“It’s far quieter in here than in the canteen, and I’m happy to share a space with a fellow reader.” Her voice, no longer obstructed by her food, rang out quiet confidence and she was happy to find that her flush was beginning to recede. She discretely flattened her palm on the cover of her book, sure that she had avoided revealing the dark secret of its contents. Parkinson sat in a fluid motion right out of a period film, _what did she expect from a Pureblood_ , and kept her eyes averted.

“Is that,” Parkinson began weakly before clearing her throat again, more forcefully, “Is that the new Tawny Highkettle romance?” Hermione felt her flush return with a vengeance, a painful heat born of embarrassment mixed with annoyance. She could feel her pulse hammering in her fingertips like an angry cut- she was not some dry academic, she could read for pleasure too, she didn’t _always_ have to read something of depth and substance. Before she could as much as open her mouth to deliver her inner monologue, she found herself arrested by Parkinson suddenly sharply meeting her gaze across from her.

Parkinson abruptly set down her lunchbox and held out her own book before her as if laying herself bare. Hermione felt the pressure in her head recede as if it were a balloon deflating when she found herself looking at a familiar smolder. The longhaired man on the cover lifted his arm to rest on the beam of the non-descript barn he found himself in, seductively flexing his chest at her. She bit her lip to keep her expression somewhat schooled. Parkinson had never been an avid reader and had never registered as a fellow academic during school- the opposite, in fact. Chewing her lip in though, Hermione decided to be diplomatic in her response. Their history was one fraught with insults and general dislike, but was this not an opportunity to try to build a bridge between them, even if just to establish a politely distant professional relationship? Even if she only read books that Hermione felt she had to hide from the world?

“Yes, you have a sharp eye,” she began, fully revealing her own book, “I’m just over half-way through. It’s an interesting story.” Her own Scottish Casanova seemed to acknowledge his competition across the way and looked lustily into the middle distance out of frame. Parkinson, who had only ever looked at Hermione with disdain or disinterest before, seemed to light up from the inside.

“I’m just about at the half-way point,” her small smile turned into a full grin as she wrinkled her nose, “isn’t it absolutely dreadful?” Hermione choked on a laugh, failing to hide the disbelief she felt. A pretty flush appeared high on Parkinson’s pale cheeks as she excitedly continued.

“I wasn’t much of a reader growing up, but it really grew on me after… well, after everything. Normally I tend towards biographies or histories, but sometimes a Pumpkin Fizz satisfies just as well as a fine Firewhisky, don’t you think?” Hermione leaned back with a gentle, open smile plastered to her face as she tried to make sense of the witch before her. Somewhere just on the edge of her vision, she barely registered Parkinson’s rake suddenly getting caught in a very flattering breeze.

As if disclosing a secret, Hermione almost whispered her agreement, “I know, if all I read were academic or professional texts, I think I would go spare. These kinds of novels are the literary equivalent of candy floss, but their such a guilty pleasure. I keep them in my bedroom bookshelf just to make sure no one takes the piss when they come over to visit.” The pale witch leaned forward in delight and responded with a laugh.

“That seems more efficient than my methods, I just charm the covers and binding to make them look blend in with my more presentable novels. I’ve put too much work into losing the label of twit, these would be enough to undo all my efforts.” Hermione snorted and shook her head; she knew that feeling all too well. Glancing at her wristwatch she swallowed a curse, popping her last fried plantain in her mouth before gathering up her things.

“Terribly sorry Parkinson, but my lunch hour is just about up- I must run back to the office.” Her companions face seemed to fall at that, deflating back into her seat. Pausing at the door she could not hide the small smile.

“I usually stow away in here for lunch to read, my hour starts at noon. What say I bring you one of my favourites to read the next time we have an overlapping lunch hour?” Her smile was returned.

“That sounds like an absolutely lovely idea, Granger.”

***

Even a month later, Hermione was still surprised at just how easily she had settled into her new lunch routine with her erstwhile nemesis. It was such a wonderful break from the rigors and stress of her daily tasks in Magical Law Enforcement to have a giggle over the latest bawdry novel exchange, though with time they had been finding themselves engaging in deeper conversations.

It was difficult at times to look at the open, friendly woman she was currently sitting next to and compare her to the memory of the snobbish twat she knew during her Hogwarts days, but they were steadily becoming two separate entities in her mind.

Hermione couldn’t help directing a mischievous smile at Pansy as she pulled out her latest offering, “I would like to present the rarest gem of my collection- Margueritte Beaufort’s only novel, _The Dark Dragon Prince._ ” Pansy grinned in response- a crooked, genuine thing that had the unfortunate effect of making Hermione’s stomach flutter lately- and greedily ripped it from her hands. Hermione snagged a dainty triangle of her companion’s cucumber sandwich and leaned back to watch the impending reaction.

“Oh, _Salazar_ ,” her friend choked out as she raked her eyes across the cover, “I’m not imagining the resemblance to a certain, _ferrety_ former schoolmate of ours, am I?” The brooding man on the cover dramatically turned away to slide a hand through his fine, white-blonde hair, effecting a pout in Hermione’s own direction. The former Slytherin opened to a random page and snorted gleefully, before flipping the book to its back cover. The wide-eyed gasp was everything the former Gryffindor had hoped for as Pansy threw her hand out to grasp her own.

“ _No._ ” Hermione gleefully grasped right back, trying to focus less on the charming contrast of light and dark of their hands and more on the reaction unfolding in front of her. Pansy, flushing as prettily as their first encounter, was still agog when she turned to her.

“Am I seeing things? Margueritte Beaufort is _Millicent Bulstrode_?” Her incredulous tone broke the final grip Hermione had on her laughter, and she could not help the hearty laughs from spilling out in response.

“I don’t know that I want to read the kind of smut she would write about Malfoy, it almost seems too intimate,” she continued, squeezing Hermione’s hand once more before releasing it, “Though I suppose if you could manage it, I could too. I managed a couple of years dating him in school, didn’t I?” Hermione bit at one of the baby carrots she had brought with her lunch, feeling subdued at the mention of her previous partner.

Mumbling around her snack, she responded, “It was difficult at times, but it is a cracking good laugh from the perspective of someone who has known him since he was a pointy faced little bugger. Now come one, what have you got for me?” Pansy was still grinning in her lovely, crooked way though it seemed decidedly less bright.

“This is something a bit outside of the usual. The author is Pomodora Amore,” Pansy’s smile was suddenly a small thing, as she hesitantly slide the novel over, “It would be nice to pick up our usual discussion when we’re both back on Monday, though I… understand if this is not your usual fare.” She began the process of packing up her things in preparation to return to her own desk in International Magical Coordination. Hermione’s dark eyes ran over the cover and felt a sort of relief wash over her being.

Rather than a Byronic stud trying to get her attention, she was instead looking upon two women grasping passionately, though tastefully, at each other, their own intense gazes unable to tear away from one another. She almost felt lightheaded, there was a powerful yet slow pulse in her head. Snapping her eyes up, she could see her companion just about to escape through the doorway.

“Or,” she internally scolded herself for sounding so unsure and cleared her throat before continuing, “maybe we could talk about the books a bit sooner than that? Perhaps tomorrow at 7?” She bit her lip and smiled up at her through her lashes. Pansy swung around in surprise before stepping towards the doorframe to hide herself behind it. Her smiling mouth was outside of Hermione’s line of sight, but the sparkle of her brown eyes was unmistakable.

“It’s a date.”


End file.
